


West End Boys

by Moria



Series: SSSS: Saga of the Mages (aka Mageverse) [13]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Crossdressing, Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moria/pseuds/Moria
Summary: Reynir introduces Lalli to an activity he enjoys doing from time to time. Lalli participates, especially when the opportunity for revenge arises.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Season of Kink's "crossdressing" prompt and SSSS 100 Prompts challenge: 75. Mirror. 
> 
> Björk is the name I gave to [Reynir's sister](http://www.sssscomic.com/comic.php?page=292) (the one with the bob haircut.) I headcanon that she's a mage but kept that a secret from Reynir. She's not fond of Finnish mages, so any chance for revenge is good opportunity for Lalli! :D

Lalli could barely keep up. Reynir’s tight hold on his hand spoke of his excitement and teeming mischief, positively bobbing next to him. The moment they awoke next to each other, Reynir’s eyes had been alight with the thought on where they were to go, much to Lalli’s dismay. He much preferred the idea of just staying on his raft, and perhaps enjoying some private time the daytime had not provided. The day of running around doing errands and working on the field exhausted him more than he expected, especially with Reynir on an endless loud conversation with his father and brothers that Lalli could only partially understand. It was a small mercy that Reynir had worn himself to the point that after their return back home, he collapsed next to Lalli on his bed and promptly fell asleep. 

“I’ve never even seen her Haven—of course I wouldn’t—I didn’t know I was a mage until I met you,” Reynir yammered happily, his feet splashing on the dream-water as they passed Reynir’s Haven, Lalli’s own Haven growing tinier behind him. Lalli gave up on paying attention where his feet went and trusted wherever Reynir was pulling him. Wherever Reynir’s feet touched, Lalli was safe crossing. That was the first thing he learned about Reynir. Reynir meant safety. 

Reynir stopped suddenly, squealing so loudly Lalli almost smacked him (Reynir also meant annoying, sometimes.) 

Before them a tall building stood, its height obscured by fog. The glass windows glistened black, and a ridiculous large glittering diamond stood in place of a doorknob. 

“This must be hers!” Reynir announced happily. “Björk always uses a ‘get out, assholes!’ sign on her door at home!” 

“Delightful in dreams as well as in the world of the living,” Lalli muttered. 

The door gave no resistance to Reynir turning it. Reynir ran inside, pulling Lalli in with him. Björk was, thankfully, absent, currently awake and not expected to return home for a few hours yet. Unless she decided to sleep on her way back home, it would give Lalli and Reynir enough time to do whatever mischief Reynir was cooking up. 

A look around Björk’s Haven caused Lalli to cringe and stick his tongue out, hating it as much as he hated the woman who harassed him, laughed at his clothes, and mocked his language and culture all before Reynir’s eyes. 

_Charming as a porcupine_ , Lalli thought, then decided that he wouldn’t be surprised if porcupine did indeed turn out to be her fylgja, lurking just over there disguising itself as a pincushion on the tabletop next to the blank-staring mannequin. 

“What is this place?” 

Reynir walked around, eyes wide with wonder and amusement. Her Haven was wide, giving the sense of being both spacious and cramped. One side was full of tables and chairs fitting for a small restaurant of some kind, and the other, a studio with cushions and, as Reynir named them off excitedly, vanity sets, cosmetic sets, and rows of hanger racks. 

Music drifted continuously from some source Lalli couldn’t pinpoint; a little off was a machine he recognized as a sewing machine; his aunt had one similar to it. 

“Björk always loved the Old World fashions,” Reynir said breathlessly. “Iceland kept records of the old clothing customs in their archives. She used to take trips to Reykjavík just to visit the museums and pore through the libraries, just for these! I think she’s tried to make a few dresses herself.” He laughed heartily. “ _This_ is her Haven! The fashion studio she always wanted! She must have spent every dream making these!” 

Grinning madly, Reynir ran to one of the racks. Lalli sighed and threw himself down on one of the weird furry stools, watching bitterly as Reynir rummaged through the racks before pulling out a few dresses, stringing them over his arm. 

“I sometimes used to slip into Björk’s room and wear her clothes,” he suddenly confessed brightly. 

Lalli’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That’s…very _you_.” 

“It’s really fun—here, I’ll show you!” 

He brought the dress towards Lalli, showing him one by one before laying them out on one stool and settling himself atop another next to one vanity dresser. There were dozens of trinkets strewn about, trinkets that Lalli couldn’t begin to fathom what were used for (some looked like torture devices.) 

Lalli watched as Reynir snooped around his sister’s dream possessions, pulling out cosmetics and, to Lalli’s surprise, applying it on himself with such effortlessness that Lalli wondered just how often Reynir did this. He began with adding a soft brush to his cheeks, then added color to his eyelids, and a soft color to his lips.

Lalli wanted to laugh just watching at how seriously Reynir was taking this, but the final result, the complete transformation left Lalli without the ability to come up with any biting comment. Reynir didn’t cake on any makeup, but applied just enough to give his face the subtlest of change, highlighting his handsome features. Noticing Lalli’s stare, Reynir gave a quick smirk. Then grabbing a hairbrush, Reynir worked on his hair, loosening his braid free. 

It was the first time Lalli had ever seen Reynir with his hair down, the long red locks just rolling down, a river of red locks. They framed around his face in such manner that his breath caught, but all too soon, Reynir was pulling his hair back into a ponytail, letting his long hair fall free on his back—more feminine, Lalli noted—while leaving plenty of hair to curl around his face. 

“You haven’t blinked during all this time,” Reynir observed with amusement. 

Now reminded, Lalli blinked and shook his head, but Reynir was already chuckling silently to himself. He shed off his clothes gracefully without upsetting his hair or makeup. Clasping the elastic of his underwear, he slipped it off with slow ease, teasing Lalli, before discarding it along with the rest of his garb on the ground in a manner that shouldn’t have aroused Lalli as much as it did. Sighing contently, Reynir rested back just slightly, studying the dresses laid out over the next stool. 

From this angle he gave Lalli a clear view of his front, his neck, his chest and stomach, completely nakedness, how handsome and irresistible he now appeared, _angelic_ if Lalli had to use an Old World term. He had seen Reynir like this a dozen of times, completely bare under him, unfurling hair behind him on the pillow, but this was different. 

Lalli leaned closer into the desk, but there was no hiding his arousal. And Reynir knew it, from the way he was smiling and reacting in return. The imp. 

“Now, let’s see…” Reynir said, the flush rising over his cheeks, his heart’s palpitations evident from this distance. “The dark blue will go best with my hair and skin, don’t you think? Björk doesn’t have red hair, so almost anything looks good on her. I have to choose a little wisely—oh, I’m talking about my sister during a time like _this_!” 

He slipped into the dress effortlessly, the dress molding around his form as though it were made for him. He accessorized with some bracelets from the desk, shoes that fit perfectly, and a tulle shawl that fell off one shoulder. Lalli drank it all in, enchanted, as his lover transformed himself from the handsome Icelandic mage into a red-haired beauty in a long dress. 

Reynir bowed—no, curtsied!—his fingers holding up a part of his dress that fell around his hips in a way that confused Lalli with how much it made him dizzy with need to reach out, feel the fabric between his own fingers, and also to touch Reynir under them. 

“Would you like to dance?” Reynir asked. “Although…you’re not properly dressed for the occasion…”

“Will I need to be dressed differently?” Lalli didn’t see anything wrong with the clothes already on his back. 

“They are fine clothes,” Reynir said, “but not the kind you find in a dance room. I can help prepare you for the dance! It will please me!” 

“Mrr, okay…” 

Settling back on the stool, Reynir pulled Lalli’s own seat in front of the mirror and began his work. 

“Mrrr!” Lalli complained when Reynir applied the cosmetics, hating the feel of something clinging against his skin instantly. 

“I won’t apply too much,” Reynir promised. “Give it a few minutes, and you’ll stop feeling it.” 

Sighing, Lalli tried to comply, vividly aware of each brush of Reynir’s fingertips against his face, remembering the times he had licked his own come from those long fingers. He stared at his reflection in the mirror as Reynir did his magic, altering his appearance by the tiniest brush strokes. Then taking a comb, he altered Lalli’s hair, brushing it around to frame his face differently from before—a “bob” haircut, he called it, similar to Björk’s own style. Lalli made a face at that. 

But it looked nicer than Björk, Lalli decided while studying himself. Or perhaps he just had a fairer face than that porcupine witch. Reynir changed very little with Lalli’s appearance, and yet they were noticeable, nicer, turning Lalli into a softer version of himself: fairer, more vulnerable. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to appear more vulnerable, but he was in the presence of Reynir in the dreamworld; the chance of an attack here was slim, and this…this was nice. 

But he would not wear a dress. He shook his head firmly even after Reynir gently coaxed him with kisses and caressing hands that stripped him completely bare, stroking his cock in the process in effort to get him more compliant. But Lalli still refused, even as he stood without a single stitch of clothing on himself, his mind half-fogged with thoughts of fucking Reynir right there. 

“You can’t stand naked!” Reynir cried out, hands on his hips. “You look like one of Fura’s dolls, all beautified but lying naked around the house! But…it doesn’t have to be a dress…” 

He found something that got Lalli approaching slowly from the pile of discarded clothes and furry stools (“They’re called ottomans, Lalli,” Reynir corrected.) 

Reynir rattled off each piece of clothing excitedly as he helped Lalli into them: a white crop top, a striped black vintage woman’s suspenders pants, and a black suit jacket that reflected the light framing the mirror. To Lalli’s amazement, who had been expecting the clothes to hang on him, they fit perfectly instead. Perhaps it was a feature of the dreamworld to ensure the wearer would look good in them, but after being dressed up by Reynir, Lalli was too warm to keep thinking clearly. 

“It’s not terrible,” Lalli confessed, half-sulking, half trying to keep his erection from ripping through Björk’s well-sewn pants. Reynir beamed, the light illuminating his handsomeness. “Neither are you…” 

“Why, thank you!” Reynir said with a hand on his heart just as the song changed. “Now, for that dance…” 

He led Lalli away from the dressing studio and towards the cafe’s dance floor, and soon enough they fell into pattern, letting the music guide their steps. Lalli pressed himself against Reynir and sniffed the perfume on his lover, deciding the mixture of flowers and Reynir’s scent, while odd, was enjoyable in its own way. 

Peering over Reynir’s shoulder, he caught his reflection, and the long waves of Reynir’s hair rolling down the soft fabric. His hand snaked down, from deeply entwined in Reynir’s hair, to caressing down his back, testing the feel of the tulle fabric against Reynir’s skin, tracing his shape against the contour of the dress, his hand reaching around his buttocks—grinning inwardly against Reynir’s collar when he remembered that Reynir had on no undergarments—and pressed the fabric around his love’s form. 

Reynir’s moans, barely audible in Lalli’s ears, drowned by the song, but it would not be much longer. How lovely would it be, Lalli pondered, if the next time Björk walked into her studio Haven and found her clothes soiled with their semen and sweat. Curling all but his middle finger, he slid his finger down between Reynir’s buttocks, rubbing him against the fabric just as he pressed his hips up against his, cursing slightly that perhaps he should have gone for a dress after all. The fabric of the pants were too thick, whereas the dress was giving him everything Reynir’s body could offer. But to be able to grind against him, feeling his cock getting harder, pressing against his stomach. 

“Lalli…” 

Lalli looked up, giving Reynir a devilish little smile. “I thought you said you wanted to dance.”

Reynir’s cheeks burned redder, and Lalli grinned. “Yeah, I did.” 

Reynir hoisted him back up, careful not to let their hips make contact— _Fine, prolong the torture if you wish_ —as the song carried on. Lalli rested his head on Reynir’s shoulder, his own heart pounding with need, before the words overhead distracted him. 

“This is far from romantic,” he said. “The guy’s complaining that he only works for his woman!” 

“It’s meant to be a classic in the Old World,” Reynir said. 

“They had strange notions of what makes a good dance song.” 

Laughing, Reynir pulled him closer, gripping him around the waist as he led them towards one table. Taking the hint, Lalli followed Reynir, effortlessly stepping over the chair, onto the table, crossing it with ease, back onto another chair, and back on the floor—a trick they’ve picked up in all the times they’ve danced together, momentarily forgetting the weird song overhead. 

Reynir dipped him just as the next song began; and there was something in the tune, the melody’s slow ascent, its seduction a hint, that enticed Lalli. 

“That’s more like it,” he sighed into Reynir’s ear as he felt his lover’s cock press against him. His grip on Reynir’s hands tightened, and he led him between the tables, careful to position their hips against one another, the friction of fine fabric and the singer’s sultry voice both doing its magic on Reynir. The corners of Lalli’s lips curled, his hands snaking back, each touch releasing soft gasps and moans from his lover. He must remember this song should they do this again. What began as a plan set out by Reynir was fast turning in Lalli’s favor. 

Quickly he unfastened the zipper of his pants, slipping his cock out. Björk’s pants were really not made for his body, nicely made as they were. Besides, it would be far more fun when he came and spent his seed on all of the clothes Björk so painstakingly sewed all these years. And seeing Lalli like this made Reynir react in ways that were just too sweet. 

He stripped out of his outer coat then pulled his white shirt up slowly, tantalizing Reynir. The shirt was short enough to show his midriff, but Reynir’s eyes sparkled as Lalli teased by exposing more. He let the shirt drop back and leaned forward, licking and listening to Reynir’s moans as Lalli ravishingly tasted him through the fabric. Then tugging Reynir’s own dress down slightly, he took the nipple in his mouth, then quickly pulled away, gasping when remembering he was wearing lipstick. Lalli grinned at the red mark. 

“Don’t stop,” Reynir begged. The brief brush of the fabric against his sensitive skin delighted Lalli, and he eyed Reynir’s lips with lustful hunger. He suckled at Reynir’s nipples till a hand gripped his chin and pulled him up, guiding him to meet Reynir’s warm lips. But before their lips could touch, Reynir swept down and kissed his cheek. 

“Marked you,” Reynir said in a teasing voice. Lalli released a low growl under his breath and claimed Reynir’s lips just as he pushed him right against the wall. 

Caressing down one thigh, he gripped Reynir’s leg and brought it up, luxuriating in the feel of his lover under the beautiful satin, and wrapped the leg over his hip. Their cocks pressed together, separated only by the satin dress, but the texture only added to the appeal. To the tempo of the song, Lalli rocked his hips, his gaze steady on Reynir’s; they were still dancing, though very slowly and up against the wall, with Lalli supporting Reynir’s weight as one leg wrapped around him. The wet spot of Reynir’s dress widened, sticky on both ends as it filled with Lalli’s own juices. He grinned up on Reynir—oh, Björk was going to scream when she put the pieces of the puzzle together! 

The same thought must have crossed Reynir’s mind, the horror and thrill all running past behind his eyes, but it was far too late for him to back out. Lalli had him right where he wanted him. He leaned forward, licking over the small wet spots over his nipples, kissing his lips and getting a brief taste of the lipstick he used (he much preferred Reynir’s own skin for this), all while grinding against him, keeping their bodies swaying to the music until Reynir shuddered, hands gripping Lalli’s arms as his body underwent the great waves of his climax. The sight of him, flushed and beautiful, half-adorned in satin, tipped Lalli over the edge himself, pressing their hips together as he buried his face in the crook of Reynir’s neck, soft red curls tickling his forehead. 

Lalli grinned when he pulled himself up and examined the sight of his prize: the beautiful dress made more lovely with Reynir’s come dripping down. Reynir’s leg slipped back to the floor, and his breath steadily returned to normal. When his eyes fell on the sight of the dress he gasped and gripped Lalli’s arms, his eyes slightly wide, his face red; Lalli was certain that Reynir would be ready for another round just knowing that this was Lalli’s doing, and grinned. He met Reynir for another kiss. 

“She’s so going to kill us,” Reynir said when Lalli pulled away. 

Lalli glanced around themselves with a satisfied smirk. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title of fic is a play on the song title "[West End Girls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axDzfsY41QM)" by Pet Shop Boys (which does play during the fic when things get heated.) The other song playing, which Lalli doesn't think is very romantic, is "[Everything She Wants](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9abYzI9ycjk)" by Wham.


End file.
